By His Faith
by WillowDryad
Summary: Edmund must decide whether to live, and die, by his faith. Golden Age.


**Disclaimer: Sadly, all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. But he's kind enough to let me play with them sometimes.**

BY HIS FAITH

It is said that the just shall live by his faith.

But, as he fought off another attack of Fell Beasts, King Edmund the Just wondered if he would live at all. A few days before, scouts had brought word to Cair Paravel of a small, stubborn band of marauders in Edmund's western wood, so he had taken a troop of soldiers to clear them out.

"There aren't many, Pete. We'll be there and done with them before the week's out."

And since the High King had had ambassadors to treat with and was also expecting a visit from a particularly lovely foreign princess, he had reluctantly allowed Edmund to go alone.

"I won't be alone, stupid," Edmund had grumbled. "Remember that troop of soldiers I'm taking along? Stop treating me like I'm ten. I haven't been ten for nearly ten years now."

"At least do as you're told for once and stay safe."

And then, just to annoy him, Edmund was certain, Peter had seized him in a tight hug worthy of one of the Bulgy Bears. Of course, that meant Susan and Lucy had to join in, the three of them conspiring to squeeze the life out of him before he could even get underway.

"All right! All right!" Edmund had shrugged free of them and set his helmet back straight on his head. "Serve you all right if I never come back."

As always, they had laughed and waved until he and his troops were out of sight of the castle and headed west.

The first attack had come late on the second night out. Only part of the description of the marauders had been correct. The group was stubborn. It was not small. No matter how often they had sent troops to clear out these nasty creatures leftover from the time of the White Witch, there always seemed to be more. This time, there were many more.

After the second attack, a poorly defended charge that left more than half of Edmund's forces wounded or dead, a bitter snowstorm had moved in, adding two feet of snow to their misery. Edmund had sent his swiftest scouts, a pair of peregrine falcons, to bring help from the Cair, but then the third attack followed swiftly on the second, and he began to doubt that help would arrive in time.

His troops were dwindling, cut down all around him, torn to bits by wraiths and efreets, crushed by ogres and snared by sprites. Edmund was just rallying his soldiers when two chimeras converged on him, hissing and biting, dragging him down into the snow, raking their claws through his armor and deep into his chest. They stripped his sword from him, one pinning his arms as the other bared its teeth over him, shrieking in delight as the storm howled around them. He lost consciousness as a centaur's kick dispatched them both.

The first time he woke, it was to pain, a fiery, relentless pain that ripped down his chest from his shoulders to his belly, pain that burned in his lungs and twisted his gut and made him want to retch though he knew there was nothing left to bring up. "Shh, Your Majesty." That was a raccoon trying its best to bind up his wounds. "The worst of it's over now. Lie still. Lie still."

The second time he woke, it was to heat, a suffocating, pressing heat that radiated from his own body and seemed to dim his eyesight. He fought against the stifling blankets wrapped around him, only to be held back by gentle, determined hands, human for once. "You mustn't catch a chill, Your Majesty," one of the soldiers said. "We will get you back to the Cair as quickly as we can, as long as we're not attacked again, but you mustn't catch a chill. No, leave that alone . . . "

The third time he woke, it was to cold, a dark, empty cold that had no end and no escape. He had a vague memory a faun, amazingly fierce for one of that gentle race, dragging him into this abandoned warren and stuffing him inside. Could it be that that one faun was all that was left of his soldiers now? "You must stay here, Your Majesty," he thought he remembered the faun saying. "The snow will cover our tracks and, Aslan willing, I'll bring back help."

But now he was alone, freezing and then burning and then freezing again, lightheaded from blood loss, perishing of thirst. He tried not to think about what would happen if he didn't have help soon. He tried not to think about sweet wine and roaring fires and downy bedding. He tried not to remember the warmth of that last not-so-annoying hug at Cair Paravel.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, still freezing and burning, for he didn't know how long. Hours? Days? No, he could tell by the extent of his wounds that he wouldn't last for days. If help didn't come before long, he would go to be with Aslan and that would be all.

"Aslan," he murmured, suddenly aware of a golden warmth lying next to him, nuzzling his neck and his nose, not letting him fall into that last sleep.

"Aslan," he breathed again, feeling a weary touch of a smile tug at his frozen cheeks. "Aslan, where have you been?"

"With you, Child. Always with you."

Edmund shifted his head so it was against Aslan's velvet side and he could hear the great heart beat. In a moment, his own ragged breathing smoothed and fell into rhythm with the Lion's. And then a thought pierced through him.

"Aslan?"

"Yes, Dear Son?"

"All my soldiers, all but the faun I think, they're dead?"

"They are."

Edmund swallowed down the bitterness that rose in his raw throat. "I'm sorry. I should have led them better."

"You did as best you were able, Child. There is no shame in that."

"Did they– Did they go into Your country, Aslan?"

"That is between each of them and Me, Child. Do you need to know?"

Edmund found he was too weary to answer that now. He tried to get closer to the Lion, but he found he was also too weary to move.

Again the Lion nudged his face and nuzzled his neck, and he realized he could barely feel that now. He was so cold. His body hurt more than he would have ever thought possible, his breath came now with difficulty, and he began to be afraid.

"Please, Aslan," he whispered, steeling himself against a fresh pain, a pain that was not from the cold or from his wounds. "Am I to go into Your country now?"

"Soon," the Lion said, breathing delicious warmth onto his face. "Soon."

Edmund managed to turn to his side, nestling closer to the warm fur, hating the tears that slipped down his still-numb cheeks. He had always thought that, when his time came, he would rush eagerly into that Place, changed in an instant from death into eternity, no longer suited to this world.

A shadow of shame passed over his eyes. He belonged to the Lion, bought by that infinitely precious blood that had been shed on the stone table in place of his own so many years ago. It was not for him to choose his own place and time. His life was no more than a glimmer in eternity, but to suddenly leave it . . .

He thought of his people, the Sons of Adam, the Sons of Earth and Water and Air, his cousins the talking beasts, his loyal soldiers and loving friends, of the land itself, breathtaking in beauty, and a glorious castle by the sea. And, more than these, he thought of them, of Lucy and Susan and Peter.

No, he couldn't think of them. Of being without them. Would it seem long in that Place before they came, too?

_Serve you all right if I never come back._

Fighting more tears, he pressed even closer to the Lion. If He willed it, it must be right. It had to be right. But it should be joy, not pain.

And yet that was not what his faith was for. It wasn't for what _he_ thought should be. It was for trusting when he couldn't know. When he couldn't see. When he couldn't possibly understand.

He wove his fingers into the golden mane, clinging there until his heart was steady.

"I am ready," he whispered because he knew he wasn't strong enough to speak the words aloud. "I am ready to go if I must."

"Soon, Dear Heart," the Lion purred, nuzzling the tears from his face. "Soon."

And then, with a deafening roar, the Lion was gone.

But Edmund found he was not alone. There were signal trumpets and shouts and hands dragging him from the warren that had sheltered him. And there was Peter crushing him close in strong arms, tears of joy and relief in his worried eyes.

"No," Edmund murmured, trying to struggle away from him. "Don't hold onto me."

Peter pulled back, sudden remorse washing over him. "Your wounds. I'm sorry. I was just so glad–"

Squeezing his eyes shut, turning away from his brother's face, Edmund tightened his own hold. This pain had nothing to do with those inconsequential tears in his flesh.

"Aslan– Aslan was with me."

Peter gave him a puzzled smile. "Yes, I know. We heard Him. That's how we finally knew where you were after the snow had covered up all the tracks. My soldiers are cleaning out the rest of the Fell Beasts, but I had to come find you. You'll be all right now. I promise."

Edmund shook his head fiercely, knowing that was a promise his brother shouldn't make, one he could never keep. But he said nothing. He was too worn to speak a word, and he hadn't strength enough now to bear the pain that would come into Peter's eyes if he were to know what Edmund knew already. He only clung close again, holding tighter and tighter still, waiting. Waiting for soon.

Late in the night, after he had been bathed and stitched and bandaged and fed such nurturing things as his stomach could hold, after he'd been nestled in mounds of soft bedding and warm wraps, after the healers had exchanged grim glances over him, after Peter, anxious and suddenly pale, had turned from talking with them, Edmund lay staring up at the darkness that was the top of the tent. He was burning hot again, fevered, intensely aware of every unrelenting wound, wrung out and weary of the struggle to continue breathing.

He knew Peter was there with him still, sitting on the ground beside his bed, his legs curled under him, his head pillowed on one arm in exhausted sleep. Even in the dark, he knew. He could feel Peter's grip on his wrist, still holding on, seeking tangible assurance that the lost had been truly found and was not, at least not yet, lost again.

"You'll have to let me go," Edmund murmured, the words hardly audible even to himself, even in the perfect silence of the night. "You'll all have to let me go. Soon."

His wounds throbbed, but he pushed that pain aside with all the others. Aslan was his good lord, and if this was the adventure He had set before him, Edmund would go to it clear eyed and without fear.

"Aslan," he whispered, and there again was the great Lion, His eyes warm and golden, bringing with him light and the fragrance of life and peace.

"My dear son."

Edmund trembled. He was not a tame Lion, and He was not one to be summoned. He must have come for a particular reason.

Edmund stroked his hand down the searing wounds in his chest and felt the wet warmth of blood through the wrappings. There was only so much the healers could do. Ultimately, his fate rested in the paws of the Lion, and he would have it no other way. Yet–

He closed his eyes for a long moment, one last time burning into his mind the images of his beloved kingdom, of his beloved people, of his beloved family. Afterward, he gently loosened Peter's grip on his wrist and slid his arm free. Careful not to wake him, Edmund struggled to sit up and then pressed a kiss into his golden hair, for him and for their sisters.

Then, with a final aching breath of the sweet Narnian air, he lifted his eyes to the Lion's waiting ones and asked as he had before, "Am I to go into Your country now?"

"Soon, My Son. Soon."

"I am ready," Edmund said, grave and unflinching, this time somehow strong enough to speak the words aloud, and he fell to his knees before the Lion, trusting though he be slain. "I am ready to do whatever pleases You."

"Soon," Aslan said once more, something already pleased and smiling in His eyes. "Soon, Dear Heart, but not now."

Again Edmund trembled, but this time not with dread. "But–"

"When your now comes, Beloved, know that I will make your heart ready, and there will be only willing joy."

"But You said–"

"I said soon, Dear Heart." There was something near laughter in the Lion's loving eyes. "Have you forgotten? I call all times soon."

With one warm, golden breath, the pain in Edmund's body lessened and the pain in his heart vanished. And afterwards, with a purring, nuzzling kiss, the Lion also vanished, leaving only Peter's sleep-muddled questions and Edmund's own breathless answers and, between them, a tearful, joyous embrace.

And so, by his faith, the Just lived.


End file.
